Darkness and Daylight eBook

But Nina knew better. Clouded as was her reason,
she penetrated the mask he wore, and saw where the
turbulent waters surged around him, while with an
iron will and a brave heart he contended with the
angry waves, and so outrode the storm. And as
she watched them day after day, the purpose grew strong
within her that if it were possible the marriage of
Edith and Richard should be prevented, and as soon
as she was able to talk she broached the subject to
them both.

“Stay, Miggie,” she said to Edith, who
was stealing from the room. “Hear me this
once. You are together now, you and Arthur.”

“Nina,” said the latter, pitying Edith’s
agitation, “You will spare us both much pain
if you never allude again to what under other circumstances
might have been.”

“But I must,” cried Nina. “Oh,
Arthur, why won’t you go to Richard and tell
him all about it?”

“Because it would be wrong,” was Arthur’s
answer, and then Nina turned to Edith, “Why
won’t you, Miggie?”

“Because I have solemnly promised that I would
not,” was her reply.

And Nina rejoined, “Then I shall write.
He loved little Snow Drop. He’ll heed what
she says when she speaks from the grave. I’ll
send him a letter.”

“Who’ll take it or read it to him if you
do?” Arthur asked, and the troubled eyes of
blue turned anxiously to Edith.

“Miggie, sister, won’t you?”

Edith shook her head, not very decidedly, it is true,
still it was a negative shake, and Nina said, “Arthur
boy, will you?”

In the adjoining room there was a rustling sound—­a
coming footstep, and Victor Dupres appeared in the
door. He had been an unwilling hearer of that
conversation, and when Nina cried “who will?”
he started up, and coming into the room as if by accident,
advanced to the bedside and asked in his accustomed
friendly way, “How is Nina to-night?”
Then bending over her so that no one should hear,
he whispered softly, “Don’t tell them,
but I’ll read that letter to Richard!”

Nina understood him and held his hand a moment while
she looked the thanks she dared not speak.

“Nina must not talk any more” Arthur said,
as Victor walked away, “she is wearing out too
fast,” and with motherly tenderness he smoothed
her tumbled pillow—­pushed back behind her
ears the tangled curls—­kissed her forehead,
and then went out into the deepening night, whose
cool damp air was soothing to his burning brow, and
whose sheltering mantle would tell no tales of his
white face or of the cry which came heaving up from
where the turbulent waters lay, “if it be possible
let this temptation pass from me, or give me strength
to resist it.”

His prayer was heard—­the turmoil ceased
at last—­the waters all were stilled, and
Arthur went back to Nina, a calm, quiet man, ready
and willing to meet whatever the future might bring.